


But at least the war is over

by gaytriangle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8.05, Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Jaime deserves better, Jaime redemption arc, Season 8, still better than the D&D ending, tag is for the fact that everyone is dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 21:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18819679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaytriangle/pseuds/gaytriangle
Summary: Remember when all we wanted was a living Jaime? I take it back. Let him die. It’s actually a more satisfying endgame.Title from Stars - in our bedroom after the war





	But at least the war is over

“You’re late,” said a flat voice. Bran Stark smirked from his position at the doorframe, leaning heavily on the eaves to keep from toppling over onto his ass. “We were expecting you weeks ago.”

“The roads have been busy. I wasn’t sure if I was going to come,” replied Jaime Lannister, shoving past the former Raven with what could charitably be called grace in comparison to everyone else’s drunken stumbles. He was searching for someone in particular, and it wasn’t the no longer psychic tree boy. 

Bran laughed, striding over to where the Reed children were listening to Hodor and Osha tell a story, safe and tucked in the lap of Summer. He was still a warg, still a (severely weakened) greenseer, but now he was something more. Now he was Bran. Jaime brushed past the pile of wolf, wildling, and westerosi with ease. He wasn’t sure if his welcome would be nearly as warm. 

The tightness of his shoulders somehow became worse when a lady with hair like fire took his hands in hers. Lady Catelyn looked twenty years younger, smiling softly as she dragged him past where her husband, her betrothed, and her goodbrother were roaring with laughter. “It took you long enough, Oathkeeper.”

Jaime froze up a little at the term. Catelyn, out of anyone, would understand the least about what delayed him. The pull of Cersei had been strong enough to keep him south for moons, haunting the Red Keep. He slept inside the skull of Balerion and dreamed of fire and blood. It took him far too long to remember who he was. All of that emotion came rushing forth at the mere mention of his promise, his sword, and the one who wielded it. He felt a touch of moisture at the corner of his eyes. “That title should really belong to another, Lady Stark, and she’s very much still in the land of the living.”

“You’ve been away a long time, Ser,” she murmured, before dropping his hands at the cry of what had to be a still-little Rickon. Jaime looked around wildly, searching for straw blonde hair and crystalline eyes. Purple found him first. 

“I thought we’d never see you here, truthfully.” Ser Arthur Dayne was resplendent in his armour, and Jaime felt like a boy again. Now that he was looking, he noted the Silver Prince and his wives huddled in one of the corners, speaking in low voices and sharing kisses and a crown of winter roses. He made a jerky movement towards them, to apologise, but Arthur put one hand on his chest. “There is no need, Jaime.”

“No need?” croaked the kingslayer. “If it wasn’t for me, they’d be alive.”

“If it wasn’t for you, this hall would be filled with the innocents of Kings Landing. Apologise later, though I doubt it’ll be accepted,” said a voice that sounded like ambrosia. Jaime turned, and instantly fell into the arms of Brienne. He only just heard Arthur stifle a laugh over the pounding in his ears. 

“You- you’re alive, Brienne, you have to be alive!” Jaime shook, finding himself quickly engulfed in a bear hug from his wench. His shoulders drooped, and tears began to fall onto her jerkin. 

“I have broad shoulders, I’m afraid, not broad hips. Birth was hard on me. She survived, though,” said Brienne. Her lips quirked up at one side, leading a dumbstruck Jaime over to a table. Tysha Lannister waved from a nearby bench, sitting with someone that had to be Joanna. He’d find room to care about them later. “Is she...?”

“Yours,” said Brienne, without preamble. “Shireen Joanna, heir to the Isle of Tarth, fostering under the skirts of Sansa Stark.”

Jaime sat down heavily. Brienne kept her arm around him like a lifeline. As he finally began to weep, she rested her head on top of his. “Welcome home, love.”


End file.
